Reflections
by MooseTV
Summary: Several days after being caught with the $10.000, Ezra reflects on his situation. Set after the episode "Serpents".


ReflectionsTitle: Reflections 1/1  
Author: Birgit "Lee" Kohls  
Feedback: Serious comments appreciated. Send to lee_@firemail.de  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and there is no profit.  
The Magnificent Seven belong to Mirsch, CBS, MGM and Trilogy.  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: language  
Spoilers: Serpents (and the entire show)  
Archive: This story can be found at my webpage:  
http://www.geocities.com/lee_lhs/  
Notes: I'm not a native English speaker, so humour me.  
Also, I want to blame this story on Ezra and Josiah (or rather Anthony Starke   
and Ron Perlman's great acting skills).  
Anyway, I was watching 'Serpents' (again) and here's a story that wanted out of   
my head badly... Feedback appreciated. This story was previously posted in an   
unbetaed version on the Mag7Rides and the BrigaDears list.  
Special thanks to TrishA for the betaing!  
Reflections  
by Birgit "Lee" Kohls  
(August 2001)  
Ezra Standish sat on his bed in the hotel, holstered the gun he had been   
cleaning and stared at the $600 that lay next to him on the quilt. It was his   
share of the blood money, the money that Governour Hopewell had paid to Stutz   
senior to murder Mary Travis and other opponents in his political fight. And it   
was the money that had almost cost Ezra his place amongst the Seven, almost   
ended his little illusion of safety and belonging.  
Ezra flinched at the thought, the memory of that day was too vivid and painful.   
Everything he had considered thruth had been turned upside down in the matter of   
a few hours, and he had suffered one of the most humiliating personal defeats of   
his life. 'Well, maybe apart from losing my shirt to Big Lester Banks. Or losing   
the Standish Tavern to Mother. Or getting JD beaten up for my lies.' He winced   
when the incidents fought their way back to his consciousness, more painful   
memories stirred up by the recent events. Ezra had done a lot of thinking about   
himself and his life ever since Chris Larabee had chewed him out with a   
devastating glare. A glare that had told the gambler more than he preferred to   
know for neglecting his job. Standish hadn't found much sleep that night, the   
whiskey he had downed didn't help to calm the uproar of thoughts, the inner   
accusations that made him cower and think. Doubts had been nagging the   
self-secure facade that Ezra wore like an armor and that usually kept him from   
taking a closer look at his life. Chris didn't trust him with the money, and   
obviously he didn't trust him to do his job properly, either. 'A conman and   
cheater asking for trust. Did I ever earn that trust? Sure, I told Josiah that I   
had earned trust. Trust and respect. But have I really earned them? First chance   
of showing that I can be trusted, I ruin it. Running away, as I always have.'  
He swallowed bitterly. Botching up was the only thing he could consider himself   
good at. His life was an endless row of screw ups, and the past two years hadn't   
been any different. The Seminole village. Unable to con JD into releasing him   
from jail. Getting involved with this godforsaken town and the six others.   
Losing his dream, losing his money, losing everyone's respect. Unable to cope   
with the problems when things went downhill, he ran straight into the bottle   
instead of facing them like the man he always pretended to be. Brave warrior. He   
snorted. He was still the third kind, nothing had changed.  
And the godgiven talents that his mother always wanted to exploit? He had not   
stood the slightest chance against Big Lester Banks. The man had made Ezra look   
like a fool, conning him skillfully into admitting that he had cheated. Standish   
groaned. He had lost like a bloody amateur. All the hands that he and Banks had   
played, and he hadn't been able to tell how the older gambler was doing it, not   
even after finding out about the false leg. It had sent Ezra spiralling down,   
spending the next few weeks feverishly trying to figure out where he had   
slipped.  
And he hadn't just slipped in the gaming sector. He was a conman whose people   
skills were as bad as those of Chris Larabee. Or maybe even worse. He had   
laughed at Vin for writing a poem instead of using the moment to get more   
influence over the man. Ezra couldn't even begin to understand the amount of   
trust that the tracker must've brought up to ask for this unusual favour. 'What   
the hell was I thinking? Sure, I'd had had a few drinks at the time. Maybe a few   
too many. But it shouldn't have happened. Mother taught me better than this.'  
And his great plan to lure the town into trusting him. He remembered what he had   
told his mother back in the very beginning of his assignment, but the primary   
target had been altered. Have his friends trusting him. Friends. Ezra had never   
realized how much he had needed friends until he had fallen under the spell of   
the six lawkeepers. Friends, a place to call home. Funny how easy it had been to   
just stay in this dustbowl instead of hunting for the riches that the big cities   
offered. 'I could be stinking rich by now, or even have my own casino.'  
Then why wasn't he rich? Bad luck? Ezra didn't believe in luck. Life cheated,   
people cheated. All that counted was who had the best skills. Ezra had always   
thought of himself as skilled. Talented. Good at what he was doing. Because it   
was the only thing he was good at. Then why had he ended up in this backwater   
town in the first place? Why had he been caught in Fort Laramie, why wasn't he   
in the big gambling palaces where the big money was won? Why was he stuck in the   
territory, cheating a handfull of dollars out of settlers, citizens and cowpokes   
like a two-bit conman? 'Because that's what I am. Two-bit. If I'm that good at   
all.'  
Was that why his friends could read him so well? Had Chris Larabee been able to   
see straight through him and call his bluff in the saloon that very first time   
they had met, and later on in the Seminole village? And if Chris could read him   
that easily, what about the others? What did they see when they looked at Ezra   
Standish? A cheat? A nusiance? Only tolerated because he was another gun? They   
sure hadn't seen someone to trust. Was he their comic relief? A constant thorn   
in their sides that had to be watched carefully so that it didn't cause the   
downfall of the entire group? Even Josiah had expected Ezra to fail. The gambler   
was the weak element. Not Chris with his temper. Not Vin and the bounty that was   
on his head. Not Josiah and his dark moods. Not Buck and his womanizing. Not   
Nathan with his overgrown sense of right and wrong. And certainly not JD with   
his inexperience and naivety. 'No, it's me and my greed. All that I worried   
about is this goddamned money... Riches...'  
He vividly remembered being shot when he had scrambled after the diamond. As if   
that was all that counted in his life, even more than his life. That diamond had   
been worth maybe one thousand dollars. Was that his value? The slave markets he   
had visited in his youth came back to memory. People like Nathan, sold like   
cattle. How much would he have paid for a man like Nathan Jackson back then? And   
now? No money in the world would be able to replace the black healer for Ezra.   
The $500 on Vin Tanner's head had never once tempted the gambler to betray his   
friend to the bounty hunters or collect the bounty himself, because Vin was   
worth more than that, much more. Then there was Buck, poor on monetary terms,   
but richer than Ezra would ever be. None of his friends could be weighed up in   
money or gold. 'They are happy with what they have. And they have so much more   
than I will ever possess.'  
Money would never heal the wounds. The dollars that were lying on his bed didn't   
make up for all the hurt it had caused. For the agonizing self-recriminations,   
the unshed tears, the desperation, the humiliation of failing once more. Ezra   
saw it with perfect clarity, but he also had seen what a tight grip his demons   
had on him. His face in the mirror had been a reflection of the greed he had   
seen in the people in front of the bank. 'Is this all that I am? Is this what my   
friends see in me? A greedy, unreliable two-bit conman and cheating gambler?   
Good for nothing useful, with no other skills than failing his own standards and   
running like a scared rabbit?'  
Ezra felt a cold shiver creeping over his body, despite the warmth of the day.   
Running was all he had ever done. Whenever he had botched up, he had run. Why   
bother with consequences when it was so much easier to just disappear? But the   
price he had had paid was immense. In the end, he was more often run out of a   
town than leaving of his own choice. Ezra had managed to run himself out of   
society as well, wearing the colors of a gambler, pretending to be a gentleman   
and acting like a bastard. Someone no one in their sane mind would want to keep   
around. Loneliness was his destiny if he kept on running and, after tasting the   
sweet nectar of friendship, he could no longer stand the thought. Ezra wanted   
the banter, the knowledge that there was someone who would back him up no matter   
the odds, wanted to belong and have a place to call home. 'But I risked it for   
ten thousand dollars.'  
Sure, the Judge had divided the money and everybody seemed happy and relaxed   
now. Ezra's downfall hadn't been mentioned. Chris Larabee hadn't shot him for   
stealing it, and his friends were talking with him like nothing had happened.   
Even Mary Travis seemed to focus more on the fact that Standish had saved her   
life than on the money she had seen with her own eyes, blood covered and   
carelessly stuffed under the seams of his jacket. There had been no rebuttals,   
no low remarks, nothing. Of course, he had kept a low profile, trying his best   
to make the nasty facts forgotten. But Ezra couldn't get rid of the feeling that   
things weren't over yet. Soon, the talking behind his back would start. The   
looks that said 'Can we trust him?' He would once again be isolated, excluded   
from the team, forced out of yet another group. Losing the first town that had   
meant more than a bed to sleep and a saloon to play in. Losing home. And once   
again, he would have no one else to blame for failing but himself. No matter how   
he looked at the entire mess he had manoeuvred himself into, Ezra always found   
himself as the guilty party. It had been his doing that caused his failings, his   
lack of skills. 'I can as well just pack my things and leave, before they throw   
me out of Four Corners, too.'  
Ezra's stomach churned at the thought. He didn't want to leave. Four Corners   
might not be able to give him the riches he had always chased like a fool, but   
it offered something that he needed far more than money. Here, he had a purpose   
other than waking up and wondering about new ways to ruin other people's lives.   
He had a home, protected the citizens against all those bad elements who washed   
into town every day... 'Sentimental fool. I've become a sentimental fool... Ah,   
hell. Mother was right, I've lost my edge. I can't even get myself to leave   
these people. My friends.'  
He swallowed hard, torn between options that weren't very appealing and the   
fears of what would happen if he stayed. The money next to him on the bed was   
tempting. 'Six hundred dollars. That would keep me alive and in business for a   
while. I could join a big game, win some extra money and still get into that   
deal with Mother...'  
The very idea made the gambler feel sick. Teaming up with Maude would be   
admitting defeat, acknowledging that she had been right all along and give her   
another reason to tie him down. And Ezra wasn't sure if he would win any money   
in the big game. All it needed was another Big Lester Banks, and he could as   
well throw it out of the window here and now. He sighed and closed his eyes.   
'Trust and respect. All that I want is a bit of trust and respect. But like with   
everything in my life, I fail to achieve them. Not even my friends trust me.   
Respect? Who could possibly respect me after what I did? Face the facts, Ezra.   
No one will ever trust a low life like you, even less show you some respect.'  
As he opened his eyes again, his look fell on the shaving mirror. His reflection   
stared back accusingly. See what you've done to yourself, his tired features   
seemed to say. Deep, dark rings under his eyes were witness of his sleepless   
nights, the ashen color of his skin told the story of too many meals skipped in   
favor of a lonely rendevous with the whiskey bottle. Ezra's eyes widened,   
recognizing where his escape from reality would lead him. He had to stop running   
from responsibilities, commitment and consequences. If he didn't do something to   
find a way out of his misery soon, another failure that might cost him his life   
was predestined to happen. 'Josiah said to look inside my own heart. That I had   
to fight my demons... But I am not strong enough to fight them alone, without my   
friends to back me up... '  
His friends. How had he become so dependent on them? Chris's constant challenge   
and the straight line he drew to which he tolerated Ezra's behaviour, Vin, who   
he admired for his silent strength and honesty. Buck, who had been the gambler's   
partner in crime more than once and who was possibly the closest thing to a   
brother that Ezra knew. JD, who with all his naivety possessed an innate wisdom   
that the others had lost over the years. Nathan, Ezra's conscience and Josiah,   
who watched over him like a big brother. Sure, it wasn't perfect, there were so   
many edges and conflicts, so many pent up frustrations and anger amongst them   
that were unavoidable when you lived together on a daily base. But it was what   
he wanted, it was worth the effort. 'And to keep my friends, I have to change.   
Become someone they aren't ashamed off. Someone they can trust for real. I don't   
want to be a failure any more...'  
Change. Yes, he would change. Change to someone worthwhile. It would be a long   
road. He grabbed the money, rolled it into a wad and stored it in his right   
boot. 'But even the longest way begins with the first step.'  
He stood, straightened his vest and made his first move towards a new life.  
End 


End file.
